


After

by itzteegan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dogs, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Marriage, Married Couple, Married Life, Married Sex, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Post-Trespasser, Shameless Smut, Slice of Life, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 01:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20035963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzteegan/pseuds/itzteegan
Summary: Thom and Arya have had some of the best and worst times of their lives at each other's side, and neither would trade it for anything. As much as they might have suffered, their journey has lead them here, to a peace that was hard-won and is well-deserved.





	After

The whoosh of the axe sliced through the air, followed by the dull thunk as it sunk into the log, about halfway through the thick piece of wood. Pulling out the axe, Thom aimed carefully and sunk it to the bottom on his second go round, splitting it fairly evenly in two. Tossing the two halves to the side, he wiped his forehead of the sweat that had started to gather. Looking over the accumulated pile, he figured he likely had more than enough for the time being, especially considering it was still early enough in autumn that the chill hadn’t settled in yet. Only in the dead of night was it enough to warrant keeping some burning embers going, but at the moment, in the middle of the day, he’d even shed his shirt as he had gone about the outside chores, even a light undershirt just a little too much for the work he was putting in.

As his eyes wandered from the pile of logs to the cabin – and specifically, the lithe Elf who stood in the doorway – he realised that his choice seemed especially appreciated.

For perhaps the first time since he’d met her, aside from stolen moments here and there, Arya looked downright _relaxed_. Of course, circumstances hadn’t allowed much room to breathe, between her work stabilising different regions, sealing rifts, recruiting the mages, sealing the Breach, systematically countering and defeating Corypheus on every front from snatching the Wardens back to disrupting the assassination attempt on Empress Celene … and even after all of that, it still wasn’t over, as she continued to work to better Thedas, whether certain countries wanted to – or wanted her to do so with oversight – or not. If not for the Exalted Council and the Dragon’s Breath operation, he wondered if perhaps she wouldn’t still be Inquisitor, still working to right the wrongs of the world. Arya was tenacious and determined, he’d give her that, and honourable to a fault. But she was still one person, and if anything, the events surrounding the Council had shown her that she couldn’t just keep doing what she was doing. Nations had to want to better themselves, had to want to work together, and while she was a brilliant mage and an innovative fighter on the field of battle, politics drained her like nothing else, and it seemed that was exactly the direction that others were wanting her to take.

And, overall … she was just _tired_.

When they’d met once more at the Winter Palace, it had been months since they’d last seen each other, since he’d parted ways from her to try to make reparations for his past. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but since his true identity had come to light, he’d felt more than ever that he had to try to make things right. Or, as right as he could. He could never give his men those years back like nothing had ever happened, but he could take his well-deserved punches and offer help and that’s exactly what he did, even if all the response he got was spit in his face and a door slammed shut. He had tried, he had made the effort, and that’s what counted. Through all of it, he missed Arya terribly. Missed her presence, her laugh, just the light she seemed to bring. When he saw her next, however, right before the Exalted Council, he’d been startled at the sight. He’d hidden it from her, not wanting to hurt her feelings, but the bags under her eyes and the way her face was slightly gaunt from the weight she’d lost working and not eating regularly was noticeable. She had somehow looked even paler than before, which was a feat in and of itself as when they were in the Deep Roads she’d joked that she glowed in the dark, and that was a year and a half before. He didn’t say it, but she looked in dire need of a break, and he and Dorian had privately shared the similar concern for her well-being.

Even in spite of that, however, she’d hemmed and hawed over where she stood on what would happen to the Inquisition. As Inquisitor, she would have a large say in the fate of the organisation, and her sense of honour tried to motivate her to keep it going. Her limits, however, were fast being reached, and after the confrontation with Solas … _No, Fen’Harel_, he corrected himself … it became even more clear that she simply couldn’t keep going at the same rate. They had talked long and hard about it, well into the nights when she should have been resting and recovering, and she’d finally acquiesced to the fact that her retirement was well due. She had gone to the Conclave at the behest of her clan, not even in some large capacity, and fate and circumstances had conspired to set her squarely in the middle of a conflict that she had little personal interest in. Instead of abandoning the fledgling Inquisition, however, she’d stepped up and lead it, defeating the enemy and countering his own cult at every turn. And even after his final defeat, she’d continued working far beyond what she should have. At the end, she concluded, the world had functioned without her before, and they could do the same again. While she would never truly be fully retired from action for years to come – between her runs with Red Jenny, the help she gave Cullen and Rylen for their work with easing willing Templars off Lyrium, to a few odd jobs here and there for Divine Victoria – she was about as done with that life as she would ever be.

So, after a quiet, hushed ceremony, Thom had scurried out of the Winter Palace with his new wife and they’d found and purchased a plot of land outside of Redcliffe, just a dozen miles or so away from the farm that Cullen and Rylen had set up. Thanks to her reparations work for the Arl in the aftermath of the Inquisition absorbing the mage rebellion, he was more than willing to grant her the land she requested, and he even lowered the price a little in a show of good faith. It had taken some work to erect the initial cabin and then turn it into a homestead they could both be proud of, but for once, it was refreshing and unhurried and they spent many a lovely night under the stars as they discussed ideas. She’d wanted a nice area for a garden, as she’d always been an herbalist at heart, and that had been easily done. Besides Arya and the house itself, Thom really only had one more thing he wanted, and in a trip into town one day, it had quite literally stumbled right into him. He had chuckled at the feisty pup, tumbling and rolling around on the ground, skinny and staving but still yipping like he’d tear him up if he had to. He was so tiny at the time, he could have fit in a cup – which is what he ended up naming him – and Thom hadn’t hesitated to scoop him up, wondering only how he was going to explain this to Arya.

While she had initially raised an eyebrow at the small, dirty mutt, he’d won her over easily with enthusiastic kisses and adorable yips that had her smiling. And once she was smiling, he knew the battle was won. It took a thorough cleaning and several meals but he started filling out well, and while Thom knew he’d never fill out like the Mabari that Cullen had picked up at the Winter Palace, he knew he’d found a good, loyal dog. Truth be told, he found it somehow fitting that he’d settled on an abandoned mutt, and it only took some lengthy trips in the forest and some sharing of food before they were the best of friends.

Looking at Arya now, it was easy to see that the slower life agreed with her. She’d regained that healthy glow she’d had when they’d first met in the Hinterlands, so long ago it felt almost like decades with everything that had happened since. The bags under her eyes had disappeared and in its place was that sparkling glance that he’d slowly started to fall in love with from the moment he’d set eyes on her. Even her hair was shinier and thicker as it had grown out, past her shoulders now, and she often joked she’d cut it down once it reached the end of what was left of her arm. She had been offered a prosthesis before they’d left the Winter Palace, but she’d gracefully deferred, preferring to conjure a magical extension of her arm when she needed it. At first she’d been unable to sustain such an action for very long, draining her mana easily, but over time and with practise she’d gotten better and better at it until she could sustain it for a few hours at a time, if she needed it. It had still been quite the adjustment, and it hadn’t always been easy on her, but as he’d promised her once, he stayed by her side every step of the way, through every frustration and insecurity that plagued her. That was another reason they’d chosen a quiet plot of land to make their home with, as she could hide away from prying eyes on days she wasn’t feeling confident in herself. Because despite all of her accomplishments, she was still just a person, as she’d always asserted. A person who sometimes struggled with how she looked and how she felt, even though she wasn’t vain by any stretch of the imagination.

To him, though, nothing had changed. She was just as beautiful as the day she’d turned up at Lake Luthias, looking for a Warden who didn’t truly exist, one who lived on in name only. How and why she’d fallen for him of all people, he couldn’t say, and why she’d continued to love him even after his true identity was revealed, he wasn’t sure he’d ever truly understand. But she did, and he wouldn’t question it, even if he felt unworthy at times of her affection.

Returning her smile and breaking out of his own musings, he drawled out, “Like what you see?”

Her own grin widened, eyes shining as she replied, “Always do.” Chuckling, he sauntered over to her, bestowing her with a deep kiss, one he knew she was searching for. Reaching up, she ran her slim fingers through his beard as she murmured, “Dinner will be ready soon, if you wanna wash up.”

Taking the hint, he inclined his head as he replied, “As you wish, my lady.” He ignored the eye roll, well aware of her arguments against bestowing her with that particular title, but he continued to ignore it. She would always be worthy of that title and more to him, and as he made his way into the cabin to fetch a bucket to draw some water with, she playfully smacked his ass. Turning around, he raised an eyebrow at the action, but said nothing else as she returned to the cooking pot to stir its contents.

He returned as quickly as he’d retreated, beard damp and hair slicked back, sporting a fresh pair of trousers and an undershirt. Arya flitted around the kitchen, gathering what she needed to serve the meal, not even bothering to conjure a magical hand to assist her. He stood back and watched his little Dalish wife for a moment, the way she gracefully moved from the pot to the table, deftly avoiding Cup, who was trying his damnedest to be underfoot. The dog wasn’t full grown yet, but he’d gained some weight and some height, and he was now all legs and feet with a tail attached. While Thom had stumbled over him more than once, Arya was adept enough to dance around him, her bare feet not tripping even once. That was another thing he’d noticed since they’d made the move, was that she went barefoot far more often. He knew a lot of Dalish did the same, and he’d honestly been surprised to see her wearing boots all the time when she was in the Inquisition, but it seemed that was only a habit she’d fallen into while involved with the organisation. Because now that she was out of it, she seemed to be returning to her Dalish roots here and there, and it was lovely to see her relax into habits that made her more comfortable. While she’d always been captivating to him, seeing his wife in her element just endeared her to him even more.

Catching his gaze, she smirked as she asked, “You just gonna stare all night, or are you gonna come eat?” There was that adorable sass of hers that he loved. It hadn’t many opportunities to come out in the past, mostly because she was so involved with work and had to be diplomatic or was just plain too tired, but seeing it come out more and more? He loved it. It was still her, still the Arya he loved, but it was intensified, the burden of command removed from her shoulders so she was free to be herself, in all aspects.

In retrospect, while the Inquisition had worthy, honourable goals, it had been time for a change. They had both paid their dues and owed no one else their lives.

Later that evening, as they readied for bed, Thom approached her from behind, his deft fingers helping her shed her clothes. Laughing, she tried to defer, “I can undress myself, you know.”

His voice dropped a couple of octaves as he replied, “Maybe I want to help.”

Catching the drift, she turned and with one swift motion, pulled off her undershirt and let it fall it to the floor. Biting her lip, her fingers smoothed down her hair as she murmured, “Then help me.”

Thom didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned down to capture her soft lips in a kiss as his fingertips drifted around her waist and up her back, working the laces of the bindings that supported her breasts. As it fell away, she reached up underneath his undershirt, hand skirting over the hairy skin for a moment before he took the hint and parted just long enough to tug it off and let it join her own shirt on the floor. Backing her up gradually, he stopped only when her back hit the wall, and he took that opportunity to let his lips brush over what skin they would, relishing the moans and the gasps as he licked and nipped at sensitive points. Her neck was littered with them, and he cherished the little mewls she gave him, the way that her hand gripped his shoulder and her hips canted toward him as her arousal grew. His own growing hardness was starting to make his pants a little uncomfortable, but for now he only loosened the strings as his lips descended even lower, capturing a nipple and flicking it with her tongue, watching how Arya’s back arched, pushing herself against him further. He loved how her mouth parted ever so slightly as she panted, wanting more, but simply biding her time until he made his way toward the real prize. On some occasions he might tease her, wanting to hear her beg, to plead, but not tonight. And so he dropped to his knees on the floor, loosening the long skirt and pulling it down, along with her smalls, wanting nothing between them as he helped steady her so she could step out of them.

He gazed up at her as his lips smoothed over her hips, watching the way that her eyes followed his every motion, the way her tongue darted out to subconsciously mimic the action she was really desiring. Smiling against her skin, he didn’t keep her waiting, lifting one of her legs and gently slinging it over his shoulder, baring her completely to him as he kneeled at her feet.

He heard, but didn’t see, her head thunk against the wall as he licked a long stripe up her slit, pressing down once he reached her little bud, lingering there as he leisurely circled it. Her hips started to move as her arousal grew, but he reached up and firmly kept them in place, not wanting to lose his stride as his tongue dipped lower and speared her entrance. The small cry she let loose was intoxicating, driving him further as he used his tongue to fuck her for several more strokes before he returned to her bud, flicking it gently before he pulled it into his mouth and sucked on it. Her hand reached down settle on his head, her fingers gently carding through his hair, not even moving to pull or snatch or be rough even as he pushed her further, higher. Her litany of moans, gasps interspersed with his name or words or phrases in Elven, it was like a prayer most holy, most righteous, spurring him on as he held her against the wall. Surely no Chantry choir could produce sounds as sweet, as inspiring as his Arya.

While he loved the taste of her, loved to watch her squirm and moan helplessly against him, he was still a man, and even having loosened his pants, it did nothing now to deter the discomfort. He was straining against the cloth, eager for friction, wanting so badly to bury himself in his wife and lose himself to the rhythm of their bodies. He wouldn’t, however. He refused until he’d satisfied her, though she was getting close, if the way her voice pitched higher was any indication. He moved one of his hands off of her hips, burying two fingers inside of her, and she let loose a string of Elven words that he was pretty sure was curse words as cried out, her walls rhythmically tightening around his digits.

Thom moaned at the thought of feeling those same clenches as he was buried inside of her.

Arya was breathing heavily, and he kept her propped up as she came down, her eyelids fluttering as her legs trembled still. Gently, he lowered her one leg from his shoulder and moved to stand, picking up her tiny body and carrying her over to the bed. Bestowing her forehead with a kiss, he laid her down and took the opportunity to remove his own boots and pants, not having bothered with smalls after he’d bathed earlier. Arya’s eyes sparkled as she grinned at her, reaching out her hand as she entreated him, wanting him to join her.

And who was he to deny her?

Taking her hand as he loomed over her, he claimed her lips in a passionate kiss. She didn’t even hesitate as he parted them, his tongue sweeping over hers, sharing her taste with her. Arya moaned, the vibration on his mouth feeling like it travelled directly to his groin, and he didn’t waste any more time as he positioned her and then slowly impaled her. He had to breath heavily and measured through his nose, concentrating so he could let her adjust, so that he wouldn’t accidentally hurt her. His length was on the thick side, and he sometimes marvelled that she could even take him at all, but she did. Oh how she did, so beautifully, too. In order to at least _try_ to distract himself, he focused once more on her neck, the little whimpers he pulled from her sending a thrill down his spine as he slowly, gently ground his hips against her, burying himself further. It seemed his little wife was eager for him, if the way she wrapped her legs around him was any indication, and he grinned against her neck as he acquiesced to her silent request. Even after the orgasm he’d already drawn from her, she still wanted _him_, and that fed into his own arousal further. Sweetly, she peppered his temple and forehead with kisses, her fingertips trailing a path up his arm until her hand rested at the nape of his neck, gently directing him upward until she sealed her lips over his. His thrusts became quicker as he snapped his hips forward, no longer concerned he might cause her undue discomfort as she similarly worked her own tongue past his lips, claiming him just as thoroughly as he had done to her.

That was how their relationship had always been, though. She’d push forward and he’d try to push back until he couldn’t anymore, couldn’t resist, couldn’t say no. At the time, he’d tried to convince himself that he didn’t even deserve her, tried to even tell her as much, but she wouldn’t have it, wouldn’t listen to him. Arya Lavellan wanted what she wanted, and what she wanted was _him_. He thought, of course, that she wanted _Blackwall_, and so it only felt like a pyrrhic victory when she finally broke through his final resistance in her quarters in Skyhold and they consummated their affair. But later, after the truth was revealed to her, somehow … _amazingly_ … she showed him that it wasn’t just Blackwall that she wanted. She wanted _him_. She wanted Thom Ranier in all his brokenness, all his dishonour. For every reason he could come up with that she shouldn’t love him, she’d come up with two that she should. While it had taken them some time to get back to where they were before he’d left for Val Royeux, she had never once left his side, not even in their most heated arguments. She hadn’t even threatened to, had never put their relationship on the line, like it was far too precious to just throw in his face, even if he’d deserved it. And he had, but she still didn’t. Indeed, she treated him far better than he ever treated himself, and that was something he figured he’d spend the rest of their lives paying back.

There was some justice to be had in that, he figured.

As they parted, Thom’s rhythm punishing, he reached in between them to rub at her bud, wanting to spur her on toward a second orgasm, wanting to feel her inner walls squeeze against him. Moving one of her legs from around her waist so he could hoist it up on his elbow gave him the access he needed, and Arya gasped as he hit it just right. Her legs were starting to tremble with the precursors, her breath catching as her face twisted in pleasure. Oh she was a sight to see like this, laid bare, pleasured, vulnerable. And yet, in all that vulnerability, he knew there laid a woman who was strong, who was capable of leading armies, of killing would-be gods, a force to be reckoned with. And the fact that she willingly allowed herself to be as open as she was with him … it made him dizzy at the mere thought. Oh he was hers, no doubt about it. He’d belonged to her from the moment she’d sassed him at Lake Luthias, he just hadn’t realised it. But in that same vein, she was his. She may have had to push her heart into his hands, but she’d done so willingly, and he couldn’t thank her enough for how she’d made him grow, how she’d helped him come to terms with who he was. Showed him that he was indeed _worthy_, even if he didn’t think so.

This time, instead of a flow of Elven from her lips, there was only one word.

“Thom.”

She trembled as she gasped his name, her voice breaking, spent from the pleasure he’d pulled from her, and he leaned over to murmur in her ear, “That’s it, love. Come for me.”

Arya had been right at that edge, and he pushed her over, relishing the sight of her head thrown back, her lips parted as she cried out, and his own hips stuttered as he felt her clench around his length. Gritting his teeth, he rode out the waves of her orgasm, drawing it out as much as he could before he could resist it no more and he buried himself as deeply into her as he could, hand clenched in the blanket as he came with a roar, his eyes screwed shut against the bright burst of pleasure.

Her hand smoothed over his back and his shoulders as he came down, and he eventually opened his eyes. Their breathing was starting to even out, but they were both still hazy in the afterglow. Setting her leg back down, he reached up to cup her face, his fingers gently brushing over the vallaslin that decorated her face. She’d told him once that hers represented Sylaise, the hearth keeper, as she explained the coming of age Dalish ritual. He hadn’t known all the circumstances surrounding how the Dalish gained their tattoos, and considering how extensive hers was, he was impressed that she’d been able to remain silent for the entire procedure. Though he was fairly indifferent to tattoos in general, the way the delicate lines graced her face was elegant, accentuating her beauty instead of covering it. “You’re so beautiful,” he told her.

She smiled at him, that certain smile that made his heart clench in his chest just at the joy of it being directed at him. “You’re quite handsome, yourself,” she replied, her voice quiet and just a little hoarse.

He snorted softly at her assessment, still wondering how he found his burly, hairy self to be handsome, but he would ultimately defer to her judgement. She was the one who had to look at him, after all, and she seemed quite happy to as she reached up and planted a soft, almost chaste kiss on his lips.

Thom parted from her only to grab something to clean them with and to feed another couple of logs on the fire in their room to ensure it wouldn’t grow too cold during the night. He let her have the side of the bed that faced it, just to make sure his broad back wouldn’t block any heat from her, though with the way she always pulled herself flush to him, he somehow doubted she would have been cold anyway. She did the same as she always did as he climbed into bed and pulled the blankets over them, wrapping her remaining arm as far as she could around his torso as she settled into his side, like she’d always meant to be there, like the space was _meant_ for her. He wrapped an arm around her as her head settled on his chest, bestowing the top of her head with a kiss as the comforting weight settled against him. As he closed his eyes, he heard the familiar clack of nails against wood as Cup finally nudged the door open and entered their room, taking his usual place on the thick rug at the foot of the bed and settling down with a doggy sigh. And as he slowly drifted into sleep, Thom smiled, remembering well a conversation he’d once had with Arya at the Skyhold stables, about what life he might like after the Inquisition. He’d initially dismissed the dream of a house in the woods and a dog even as he’d told her, his only true want being that he wanted to stay by her side. But now … now that dream had come to fruition, and he considered himself actually _satisfied_, for once.

The path he’d taken to reach this, it had been rough and rocky, full of guilt and self-hate and loathing. But he’d made it all the same, and ultimately, that was all that mattered. He had his house, his dog, and his little Dalish wife. What more could he possibly want?


End file.
